


for me, it's you

by Ran



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Emotional ok shush, M/M, and unsurprisingly keith wants to stay, lance takes keith home for christmas, ok lets be honest this is porn with plot by product only lol, sorta canon compliant if you squint harder, this gets explicit at the end but it's like, this is a xmas exchange gift and its completely self indulgent, veronica/acxa if you squint real hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:02:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22026775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ran/pseuds/Ran
Summary: “Do you wanna take a walk along the shoreline with me?” Lance asks it like he doesn’t already know there’s no whim Keith would ever deny him.“You mean just us in the moonlight, getting wet sand between our toes?” That kinetic pull settles in the uplifted corner of Keith’s lips.“Sounds lame,” Lance agrees, eyes crinkling again with the energy bouncing between them.“Let’s do it.”
Relationships: Keith/Lance (Voltron)
Comments: 12
Kudos: 129
Collections: Legendary Defenders 2019 Xmas Exchange





	for me, it's you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ardenrabbit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ardenrabbit/gifts).



> This is a gift for a dear dear friend of mine Saline for our discord xmas exchange! I love you babe, and I hope this is at least semi coherent bc I kept letting the idea run away with me haha. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year!
> 
> The title comes from Lo Moon's song "For Me, It's You" which should totally absolutely 100% should be played on repeat while reading this.

The outline of the McClain family home looks like a surprise by the time Keith sees it through his feed, considering how many times he almost turned around on the way there. It still feels surreal; a breach in reality, trespassing where Keith is softest—the part of him that’s always so easy with Lance, and how it hadn’t taken barely any convincing for Lance’s invitation to his house for Christmas Eve since Krolia had to take a last minute mission for the Blade to be snatched up by Keith’s desperate fingers. 

The chasm in reality deepens as the aircraft creates a sandstorm near the edge of the property, right by a treeline that only blocks the sight of the ocean—the sounds of the waves cannot be stifled as they distantly crash as Keith walks down the exit ramp; Lance is watching him from the front porch, already jogging down the wooden steps with a grin even more brilliant than the too-bright Cuban sun that has Keith squinting and cupping his hand over his eyes to watch Lance approach. 

Lance stops at the end of the ramp, that grin sanding down its edges into something a little more appreciative—for a moment, Keith’s heart skips with the thought those eyes were watching _him_ with that kind of sly approval but it restarts when Lance’s eyes roam over the wings of the aircraft. 

“I’m surprised the Garrison approved recreational use of a fighter jet,” is the first thing Lance says to Keith in person in fifty seven days, not that Keith is keeping track. He just happened to know the exact last time he saw the way Lance’s face lights up when he’s creating a new joke that maybe, _maybe_ Keith will get to be in on; the way the light follows the curls of Lance’s hair at his temples, the nape of his neck; the way Keith’s ribs constrict his lungs at the sound of Lance’s voice.

“They didn’t,” is what Keith manages to reply, a little dumbly, still staring at the curve of Lance’s smile. It isn’t until that smile starts to realize a little too much from Keith’s gaze that Keith is able to throw out, “What, did you expect me to get here through basic economy?”

The air bounces between them, full of energy that electrifies Keith. “Oh, my bad. It’s a wonder they haven’t fired you, you know.”

“I think the same thing every day.” 

Finally, Lance breaks first and another grin splits his face as he takes two bounding steps up the ramp and Keith meets him, already trying to pull him into an embrace that re-inflates Keith’s chest and allows him to breathe evenly again as he inhales the deep and clean scent that’s always so _Lance_ —who wraps his arms around Keith so tightly that’s _all_ Keith can smell, and he gets almost dizzy with it.

Keith has to blink back into focus by the time Lance pulls away—not fully, his hands still on Keith’s forearms like a tether that kept them both upright—and says all conspiratorially, “You’re just in time, man. The rest of my cousins just got here, and that means we can finally eat.”

“You’re hanging out with Hunk too much if all you can think about is eating,” Keith teases—way too softly, he tells himself, and tries to calcify his feelings enough to not give himself away within the first five minutes of arriving. 

Lance mock gasps and catches Keith with a leading tug down the ramp and towards the house. Keith follows because that’s all Keith is ever able to do—follow Lance’s pull throughout the universe and hope that maybe one day, Keith wouldn’t just be one step behind. “First off,” Lance starts and Keith hides his smile in a cough, “one can literally never spend too much time with Hunk, thank you.” 

“Fair,” Keith concedes. 

“And _secondly_ , mister, food and family is _literally_ what Christmas is all about so I don’t want to even hear any jabs about my priorities.” Keith nods as Lance keeps going on, the smile on his face way too fond to be out in public. Hiding it helps him ignore the growing jumble of nerves in the bottom of his belly as they make it to the house, so big and looming with the amount of memories that can be seen woven straight into the plaster and wood of the house—it feels lived in, part of a _history_ , and it’s not one Keith ever thought he’d ever get to see up close and shared with him. Yet here he is, crossing the threshold into a past that he desperately wants to know, so he can fold himself into the future of one of its occupants.

Inside the house is even more lively—it’s pulsing with people, all of them intertwined with the fibers of this moment; every one of them _belonged_ in this moment, filled with love and warmth and knew no matter which way they turned in the house that they’d be met with another familiar face. Keith recognized a few of them; Lance’s siblings, his dad, aunts—all no strangers to visiting Lance at the Garrison for a couple days at a time when Lance can’t take off work enough to fly out home. Lance’s arm drops from Keith’s shoulders as Keith gets introduced to a flurry of others, and Keith’s heart drops until Lance takes his hand instead to lead him through the living room.

“You’ll catch hell if you get caught talking to other people before to stop in to see her, you know,” Lance tells Keith casually when Keith questions his insistent grip through the house. Keith doesn’t even have a heartbeat of confusion before— 

“Keith, _mi chulo_ , it’s been _too_ long! I’m so glad you could make it out,” Lance’s mother cooes at him in the doorway when they push through the maze of people and finally make it to the kitchen. Lance’s grip on his hand drops as Keith is lifted up in a crushing embrace from Gloria McClain.

“ _Maaaaaaaaa_ ,” Lance whines, trying to pry Keith out of the vice grip. Keith tries to pat Lance’s hand in consolation but can’t reach his arm far enough under Gloria’s hug. “I told you to stop calling him that.”

Gloria pulls away, a glare stretching the laugh lines that usually soften her face. “And _I_ told _you_ that _some_ body in this family ought to,” and at this she sends a pointed cough toward Veronica, who is innocently munching on some chips at the kitchen counter, “and until they do, then I shall.” 

Keith leans across Gloria’s glare to give Veronica a little way. “Acxa sent me with a letter for you,” he tells her and she pretends not to hear, but Keith can see the way a deep flush burns across her ears as she turns her head. He tucks that piece of information away to dissect with Lance the first time they’re alone. 

“Don’t hog my guest,” Lance pouts, pulling Keith out of his mother’s range of attack and cradling Keith’s arm to his chest. Keith blinks down at Lance, his entire arm set ablaze at every point of contact with Lance’s body. Lance must feel the heat swelling under Keith’s skin because he looks up and realization starts to reflect in his eyes before he yanks his arms down. Keith shuffles an inch away, coughing to cover the hammering of his heart. 

“Oh hush, Keith is no guest here anymore, my love.” Gloria’s words are simple—stated as fact and so into reality, even though it’s enough to shatter Keith at his core to be so entirely welcomed somewhere so easily. He knows Lance’s family likes him; from the mornings with Lance’s sister in the Garrison commons, sharing coffee over swapped stories from the previous day’s mishaps—the occasional evenings with Lance’s brothers, when they come to the Garrison with the intention of kidnapping Lance for a night of crappy beer by a campfire and it’s second nature for Keith to be riding shotgun with Lance while sneaking out into the desert—and then the rare dinner with Lance’s parents, with Gloria teaching Keith some of the family recipes since she’d _given up on Lance’s culinary ability long ago_. 

But to hear it stated so plainly makes it much more real. 

Keith has a family—this family, and Lance—

Lance’s fingers twitch toward his again and Keith’s breath hitches. 

“Okay, enough, everyone is here.” Gloria claps three times, enough to startle everyone into listening. “Well? Don’t let all this food go to waste!” 

The moment isn’t broken; it’s shifted and diffuses into the quiet chatter that picks back up as everyone shifts to the impressive and homey buffet set up around the kitchen. Keith watches Lance’s fingers for a second before looking up to find Lance watching him back. 

“C’mon,” Keith says, too softly still, and holds Lance’s fingers between his. Lance’s smile starts small but grows into something warm enough to heat Keith’s face. 

Keith thinks this may be his best worst decision yet. 

* * *

The rest of the night flies by in a blur that has Keith satiated and saturated with all the warmth and laughter and genuine love that surrounds them everywhere they go throughout the McClain family home. He feels like a sponge filled past his seams, exhausted with the intensity of it all. Keith’s drifting away on one of those wicker porch sofas, his fingers carding through Lance’s hair as he lays his head in Keith’s lap—somehow still emoting a story very well despite being past the point of deliriously tired as well. 

“Go to bed, you two,” Keith hears Veronica’s voice tell them, cutting through Lance’s rambling. “It isn’t a competition to stay up, you know.” Her voice tilts like it owns a joke but it’s not one that can fit inside Keith’s desire to stay awake. He’s reluctant to let go of this day; he’s so close to something that he didn’t even know how badly he wanted, and if he falls asleep he’s afraid the smoke and mirrors won’t be erected in tomorrow’s sunlight. 

“Mmm _mmfiiiinnne_ ,” Lance groans, rolling out of Keith’s lap and Keith’s body moves to follow without Keith even consciously deciding to do so. He’s always been in tune with Lance—ever since Lance had started their arbitrary push and pull—but after so much exposure to _in his element_ Lance, Keith feels tightened past snapping and the only release for the pressure is to be next to him, following him with the next steps to _whatever_ was going to be next.

Lance’s bedroom is a relic of time and love by the time they can navigate the staircase up to the quieter level of the house. Lance clicks the door shut and Keith watches as he knocks his forehead softly against the jam of the door three times before taking a breath and turning to face Keith. 

Lance opens his mouth and nothing comes out. Keith meets Lance’s eyes and there’s so many questions there, begging and pleading for guidance and Keith wishes he was the right one to ask what the right thing to do was. All Keith can do is step forward and take Lance’s hands like before, but this time he’s lost in his own momentum and rolls Lance’s palms to face up so he can trace the lines scattering across Lance’s skin. 

“Are you—” Lance starts, his fingers twitching in Keith’s grip. “Did you want to go to bed or—” 

Keith looks at Lance, the way Lance’s eyelashes shade his gaze. “Or what?”

Lance chews on his bottom lip and Keith watches, enraptured. There’s a deliberating heartbeat between them before Lance looks up, something building behind his stormy eyes. “Or d’ya wanna maybe get out of here for a while?” 

Keith watches the transformation of Lance’s confidence; the way he shakes himself out and the way it lays him bare gives him a naturally confident air that breezes through him. It’s more than mesmerizing; it pulls Keith into Lance’s orbit and he’s helpless but to begin his descent. 

“What did you have in mind?” 

* * *

Following Lance down the side of his family’s childhood home with nothing to guide him but the moonlight and Lance’s steady presence next to him is a rush that Keith hasn’t felt since the last time he was behind the controls of something powerful and _fast_. His heartbeat thrums in his ears the same way it does when he pulls off a particularly risky maneuver in Red; Keith can’t help but huff out a laugh at his particular position either—feet planted firmly on the windowsill as he’s reaching for the closest tree branch to grab hold of and swing to meet Lance on the ground—igniting in him the same fire he gets while soaring through the sky. 

Lance’s hands are on him as soon as he lands—small, reassuring touches over his shoulders and ribs that inflame his lungs and Keith chokes on the smoke of it; sometimes Keith wonders how Lance doesn’t notice just how far gone he is—the flames of it engulf him so often, he’s sure there’s still embers in his eyes every time he looks at Lance.

There’s a flash of Lance’s too-bright grin and then Keith is swallowing down those flames to take an outstretched hand that doesn’t know of any inevitability other than Keith’s palm meeting it. The night feels different from the soft comfort of the McClains’ back porch earlier where they had spent the evening swapping stories with Lance’s cousins and abuelita—Lance had laid his head in Keith’s lap when the sun had gone down and Keith’s heart had ignited in his chest like a wildfire and all of the night air felt like smoke in his lungs; now short, prickly grass pounds under his bare feet before it gives way to soft and pliable sand as Keith chases Lance down to the shoreline and night-bright air fills Keith’s chest as he grins through barely concealed laughter. 

They tumble over the first dune that catches their toes, laughs screeching into yelps as they trip their way through the bramble—pushing each other softly but grabbing hold of each other just as much, unwilling to release the other out of their little gravity—until finally they fall into the soft, damp sand just out of reach from the ocean’s reaching fingers. Keith’s hands find Lance’s chest in a tangle of mirth and shy excitement as he stares down at Lance’s crinkled eyes and soft smile. 

“Hey,” the word dances out with a slow breath from Lance’s lips. Keith wants to lean down and kiss the lingering laughter right out of his mouth; every sparking atom in his body is jumping with a kinetic need to be closer to Lance. 

“Hey,” Keith says back, instead, just as softly. 

“Do you wanna take a walk along the shoreline with me?” Lance asks it like he doesn’t already know there’s no whim Keith would ever deny him. 

“You mean just us in the moonlight, getting wet sand between our toes?” That kinetic pull settles in the uplifted corner of Keith’s lips. 

“Sounds lame,” Lance agrees, eyes crinkling again with the energy bouncing between them. 

“Let’s do it.” Keith grants with a push to his feet and a pull of Lance’s outstretched hand, knowing Keith’s will always be there to meet it. The ocean is a powerful hum along their sides as they stumble into a straight path down the shoreline. Keith’s fingers keep catching on pieces of Lance—his shorts, his wrist, his fingertips—but they don’t grasp anything long enough to ask for what he really wants. 

“Thanks, again,” Keith says instead, “you know, for inviting me here. I didn’t think it would be a big deal spending Christmas alone, but being with your family—” Keith sucks in a breath, grabbing his own wrist and swinging them to lock behind his back to keep from trying to hold Lance’s hand, “ —it’s been great, really,” he ends lamely, unable to fit his too-big feelings into more. 

Lance looks at him over his shoulder and there’s such a _well, duh_ air about him that Keith shoves his shoulder against Lance’s. Lance pushes back with a laugh than trails off into a sigh, his shoulder still propped up next to Keith’s and his hand coming down to pull Keith’s fingers against his own. Keith has to actively try not to trip over his own feet. 

“Nah, man, thank you for coming. I love my family—of course I do, no question—but sometimes it’s hard, you know, since being back,” Lance sighs again, this time the action deflating Lance enough for his head to drop against Keith’s shoulder as they walk so slowly across the sand. “There’s just some things that they _can’t_ understand about me now, you know. Like why I can be content here but still sometimes stare a little too long at the sky. But with you here—” Lance’s fingers tighten against his and it jolts all the way up to Keith’s heart—”well, it’s just nice to have someone who can understand me. All of me.” 

It’s so much, and not enough. Keith’s chest feels like it’s filling with the ocean mist, suffocating him and compressing everything inside him until it’s nothing but pressure ready to burst out. Something in the night claws up Keith’s spine—maybe it’s the ocean pushing on and on next to them, maybe it’s the silent urgings of the moon telling him to _go for it_ —and it forces him to squeeze those fingers back. 

“I—“ Keith swallows, trying to find the right words. He knows he should say something, but the only _thing_ trying to push past his tongue is a confession he told himself would never see light of day. “I’m glad you let me understand you,” Keith settles, but it’s so close to what he really wants to say it aches in his chest; the words are so small that they break under the pressure of the _everything_ building in his chest. Those flames dance through his lungs and scorch his ribs and Keith’s resolve feels as brittle as his charred bones. 

Lance stops, tugging on Keith’s hand to get his attention—as if _anything_ else could steal his attention with Lance so close next to him. “Dude, you know I—” Lance watches him steadily, searching. His mouth is hanging open in a little _O_ that Keith wants to trace with his tongue. Wants to taste the surprised sigh Lance would surely let out. 

Keith swallows—hard. 

“I know you, what?” Keith stares down at Lance with a confused intensity. He isn’t sure he wants to know the answer—yet he knows there’s nothing he’s ever wanted to know more. 

Lance watches him through three reaching pulls of the ocean, the only sound brave enough to breach the air between them—his eyes flickering between Keith’s, asking him something Keith wished he knew, wished the answers would wash ashore so Keith could offer them to Lance—before he finally whispers, “You know there’s no one I want to know me more, right? You’re it—for me, it's you.” 

The fire inside Keith solidifies into lightning—crackling through his veins and electrifying every nerve in his body. There’s millions of little pricks of firebolts at his fingertips, calling out to the heat of Lance’s palms and insisting Lance should be _closer_. And Keith—Keith, he agrees and Lance—oh god, Keith thinks he agrees too—

“Oh, fuck, La _nce_ ,” Keith knows—vaguely—his voice breaks embarrassingly at the end but he doesn’t care because he’s yanking Lance upward and Lance is already leaning towards him too and—

It’s the best goddamn thing he’s ever tasted. Keith lets out a broken moan that’s swallowed up by Lance the moment one of Lance’s hands snake upwards to cup Keith’s jaw—gentle and reverent and so, _so_ persuasive—to coax Keith’s lips open. Keith doesn’t even try to hide how on board he is with this idea, already boiling from the molten heat pooling in his belly. His fingers shake as they cling to the back of Lance’s neck, tangled in that almost-curly hair there—desperately urging Lance _up_ and to take whatever he wanted, _anything_ — 

“Fu _ck_ , yes, okay,” Lance gasps out around lingering kisses before finally throwing his head back on a groan that Keith immediately tries to taste. With Keith mouthing at his neck, Lance manages to gasp out, “ _Talk_ —we should talk, yeah?” 

Keith nods, lips never moving from Lance’s skin. “Got all night for that.” It’s a fair point, Keith thinks, considering all those nerves alight in his body are an inferno and the only soothing balm is the press of Lance’s skin against his. Everywhere— _anywhere_ —it doesn’t matter so long as they stay connected. Lance seems to agree—the way his arms wrap around Keith’s shoulders so tightly, his fingers bruising into Keith’s back all urge Keith to cradle Lance’s jaw and ghost his lips over Lance’s, a plea of _please_ barely more than a breath between them. 

Lance lets out a rough whine, starting to nod shallowly, his lips brushing up against Keith’s. “Yeah, okay, yes—” 

“Because you’re it for me too, you know. That’s all that matters right now, yeah?” The words leave Keith on a rush he didn’t know he had the breath left for, but it swoops low in his chest with the realization of how true that is. When Keith blinks back into focus, it’s just in time to see Lance surge upward on a low groan, his pulse hammering under Keith’s thumbs where they’re pressed into the curve of Lance’s jaw. Lance’s breath is a whine that Keith swallows easily with the rush of heat that has him bearing into the cradle of Lance’s mouth. Lance’s back bends, curving his body into Keith’s to stay balanced. The croon of the ocean nearly drowns out the moan that’s dragged out of Lance at the snug fit of his hips against Keith’s. 

God, it’s like something aching in him finally feels soothed; there’s a familiar warmth settling into every crevice of his being, solidifying his hold on Lance’s jaw that winds down his shoulders and chest—before finally landing at Lance’s hips and holding on with a renewed urgency. The new grip pulled Lance’s hips against Keith’s and _holy shi_ — 

“ _Fuck_ —!” Lance yelps as a particularly rough current knocks against their thighs and steals their footing from the waning sand. Keith stumbles, pressing into Lance’s chest for balance. Their pants are soaked, the tide an uncomfortable visitor winding between their legs. Once Lance finds his footing again, he and Keith catch each other’s eyes before bursting into laughter. 

Keith clings to Lance’s upper arms, still grinning. “C’mon, Sharpshooter. Let’s get back and get dry and we can talk, okay?” 

Lance’s grin fades into a too soft smile as he turns in Keith’s grip and pulls one of Keith’s arms across his shoulders. Their sides are uncomfortably wet, clothes heavy with saltwater, but the weight is soothing rather than suffocating especially as Lance presses his shoulder closer into Keith’s side, his fingers playing tag with Keith’s own. 

The moon is high in the sky on their trek back to the house; it feels further away, like the time between them—now—and them—then—collapsed into something so consuming it’s pushed their destination further away, extending every second of the moment for Keith to revere. Eventually his service had to come to a close, the side of the McClain’s family home coming into sight just as clouds begin to cover the night’s brightest lights. The breaking back into the McClain home was even more of a thrill than sneaking out; adrenaline pushed through Keith’s veins at the thought of getting caught by Lance’s family—guilty, sheepish, blushing Lance having to stutter through an explanation, but it would be clear that they were _together_ , that they wanted each other— 

Keith climbs through the window after Lance and stumbles over a stray tennis shoe, muttering a gentle curse as Lance steadies him. When Keith looks up, Lance is watching him with such a soft intensity that it burns in Keith’s bones. Lance’s palms drift from his anchoring grip on Keith’s arms down to the hem of Keith’s shirt, fingers rubbing the damp fabric thoughtfully. 

“Can I?” Lance asks in the barest of a whisper, those fingers twitching against the raised skin of Keith’s hips. He shivers at even that barest touch of Lance’s calloused knuckles. 

“Don’t have to ask,” Keith tells him, encouraging, aching to have the space between them already worn with familiar time and trust; he tucks that part of himself back into his chest, however, trying to control his impatient impulses. He knows they’ll be able to come to rest in each other with time and he just has to trust himself enough to navigate the first steps of this clumsy dance together. 

“Want to know you’re okay with everything, that you want it too,” Lance presses the words against the underside of Keith’s ear, fingers crawling up the hem of Keith’s shirt before drawing it up and over Keith’s arms and head. The ceiling fan’s easy breeze is enough to raise the skin across Keith’s chest, and he has to suppress a shiver as he leans closer to Lance’s warmth. 

“I want to do everything with you, Lance,” Keith assures, his lips pressing into the curl of hair above Lance’ ear. “Not just this but—I’ve _dreamed_ of you, Lance, for so long. Always wanted to be there for you, to be _with_ you.” Keith feels the tremor that runs through Lance’s body and the way it presses Lance closer into the curl of Keith’s careful embrace. That small movement—a sigh and then Lance moved a fraction forward, face turning into the curve of Keith’s neck—is enough to affirm to Keith that Lance was just as helpless to the pull between them as he is. 

“I thought I was strong enough to have you here even if I never told you how I felt,” Lance confesses near silently into Keith’s neck. “It was so hard though—you just fell into place, man, and I was already hurting with the thought of you just _going back_ and—” Lance breathes in some shaky air and the rush of it against Keith’s bare skin is enough to have a shiver pushing past his efforts to suppress it. “This is blowing my mind mind right now, is what I’m trying to say,” Lance chuckles, fingers skimming across Keith’s exposed sides. In just a few easy movements, Lance has him a mess, ready to shake apart at the seams. 

“I wasn’t exactly expecting this either,” Keith says absently, trying to show Lance he’s totally paying attention however it’s incredibly difficult when every nerve in his body is focused on each path Lance’s fingers trace across his skin. 

Keith’s fingers join his exploration, fingertips grazing over the skin hidden beneath Lance’s damp shirt, tracing never-ending patterns from the middle of Lance’s back all the way down to the hem of his pants. A shaky breath is sucked back into Lance’s lungs when Keith’s mouth joins his hands’ devout mapping of Lance’s skin. His lips taste the skin behind Lance’s ear, his tongue warms the flesh of Lance’s earlobe—there’s another sharp intake of breath as Keith’s thumbs dip beneath his belt line to meet the soft skin in the V of Lance’s hips. 

There’s a simmering heat trembling against the air between them as silence rolls across the moonlight-drenched room. The quiet scruff of Lance’s hem against the hard cut of his hips as Keith’s hand drags a reverent path from belt line to ribcage sounds too rough against Keith’s ears in the oppressive stillness of the room—but if the fabric is like sandpaper, the breathy little _ahhhh_ Lance lets out is a balm Keith wants to inhale like an addict. 

And it’s those sounds that help Keith settle into the silence; instead of feeling suffocated with the need for it, Keith feels exhilarated with little sigh and sharp exhale that’s punched from those goddamn _perfect_ lips of Lance’s. It’s the thought of Lance knowing the risk they’re taking—creaky wood and old locks the only things between them and Lance’s parents’ room—and so every little _goddamn sound_ he pushes out past his tongue is _purposeful_. It’s like he’s telling Keith, so openly: _this is a sound meant so much for you, I’m willing to risk_ everything _for you to hear it_. Every inch of Lance’s warm skin Keith’s thumb drags over makes Keith almost giddy with power. With the brush of a finger, he has Lance’s skin rising to meet the touch and a punched out sound whispering into the dark and it—it’s fucking intoxicating, having that much of someone’s attention. 

Especially someone like Lance—someone so bright and captivating, who steals the light of any room he walks in, who weaves himself into someone’s life so easily it’s as if he’d been designed to fit. And Keith—well, Keith has been cherishing every stitch between them, so completely gone for the boy pressing closer to him. Keith wants Lance so badly he could shake with the intensity of it if he wasn’t currently supporting the majority of both of their weights. Sometimes it feels like it isn’t possible the amount he loves Lance; like it’s almost violent, the way the heat rolls under his skin every time he watches Lance just a little too long, the way his heart pounds out a champion’s beat against his ribs every time Lance laughs. 

Keith wants to set that same fire alight inside Lance, too. He wants him to feel the heat build from his bones and settle like a blanket over his skin—overheated and sensitive to the touch. Keith wants him to understand that there’s few certainties in Keith’s life, and Lance is one of them—wants to imprint it into Lance’s skin, wants it branded with every single anguishingly slow suck and nip at Lance’s neck that will probably—hopefully—leave bruises. Keith wants to see a mark on Lance, wants—wants— _wants_ —

“Want to see you come undone,” Keith murmurs into the fabric at Lance’s collarbone. He can feel the jut of Lance’s chin against his hair as Lance nods enthusiastically. 

“Let’s get out of these wet clothes,” Lance agrees, fingers playing with the button of Keith’s pants. Keith leaves a lingering kiss against the hollow of Lance’s throat before pulling away and carefully undoing his pants and keeping his eyes steady with Lance’s all the while. Lance watches for a suspended moment of awe before he finally jumps slightly and starts to tug his shirt over his head. Keith drops his pants and decides to just pull his underwear down with it, impatient to get access to so much of Lance’s skin. He kicks off his shoes as silently as he can and pulls his jeans over his feet, trying not to stumble while so exposed in the darkness of Lance’s room. 

When Keith straightens back up, Lance is watching him with his mouth hanging open slightly and a dumb look in his eyes. Keith huffs out a laugh, fighting down the blush that’s threatening to burn up his neck and to his cheeks. He steps over his clothes and leads Lance carefully back to the bed. Thankfully Lance’s mattress and excessive amount of comforters is enough to muffle their movements, but it’s not enough to soften the slight pause in momentum as they settle and try to decide how to proceed; they measure each other—for reactions, reassurance, that the other is just as far gone as they are. 

They kneel on the bed—facing each other, open, bare, and vulnerable and so, so curious to learn every inch of the person in front of them. Lance moves first, Keith thinks, but he was a close second—they reach for each other and Keith pulls Lance over his lap, leaning himself back enough to pull his legs out from beneath him, loosely crossing his calves so Lance’s thighs had something stable to press against as he suspended himself over Keith’s lap. 

Keith’s hands are gripping the curve of Lance’s hips before he can even think about how warm and giving the flesh would be under his palms. Baby-fine hairs tickle his skin, a pleasant contrast to Lance’s sun-worn skin. It’s a different kind of softness—one baked into Lance’s entire being. 

Keith has to bite back a gasp when he feels a throbbing heat pressing into the dip of his chest as Keith’s grip on Lance’s hips has them grinding closer. Keith strains his neck back so he can choke on a plea for Lance to _come closer, please—_

And then their lips are meeting again, and the quiet in the room stretches against them. The silence between them isn't sterile; it isn't empty and waiting to be filled, amplifying any breach of its will. No, this silence is compressed around them, tight and possessive of its occupants. Every time either Keith or Lance pulled away from each other—for a breath, an adjustment—they both felt the _pull_ that gravitates their bodies back together. It’s a burn that amplifies when Lance stops touching him, stops trying to breathe him in—but even more so when Lance meets him head on, mouth pressing and searching pleading just the way Keith’s is. 

Lance’s hips adopt a shallow, testing rhythm that has the warm length of him brushing against Keith’s chest, the skin dragging against the ridges and scars across Keith’s skin. Keith feels overheated at the contact, that heat pooling low in his belly and throbbing in an addicting way. Suddenly, Lance’s hands are off Keith’s shoulders and he’s pulling away and it takes all of Keith’s will not to whine at the loss of contact. Not only would he never live down such a sound—but they also couldn’t be afforded that kind of noise. But then Lance is leaning back in after fumbling in his nightstand, pressing a small bottle into one of Keith’s palms. Keith pulls away only enough to realize it’s a travel sized lubricant burning in his hand. 

“I can—” Keith can’t finish, his mind racing with the thought he’ll be inside Lance, that he’ll be able to have such complete control over Lance’s pleasure; Keith’s filled with the overwhelming desire to push Lance past every limit of satisfaction he’s ever felt and make him soar with the connection between them. 

Lance nods, shushing him gently with pecking kisses and braced hands on his shoulders. Keith stares at the bottle for a blinking second longer before uncapping it and warming a generous amount between his fingers. It’s calming, somehow, almost centering—such a small thing, and then he’ll be so _unbelievably_ close to Lance. Keith is filled with the pride that he’s being given such a right—he’s being trusted with not only Lance’s pleasure but with a vulnerable version of himself that causes Keith’s chest to ache with want. 

Lance’s thighs part a little further when Keith presses his fingers between their bodies and against Lance’s tight entrance. Lance’s face presses against the side of Keith’s head, his breath a stuttering thing that barely ghosts past Keith’s hair. Keith nuzzles against that touch, breathing in Lance’s deep and airy scent mixed with the brush of saltwater before he gets the courage to press a searching finger closer into Lance. Lance lets out a gasp that’s hidden in a hiccup, covered up with Keith’s wild hair. 

Keith brushes gentle, reverent strokes against Lance’s entrance before circling it in such a tantalizing rhythm that Lance starts to pant hot, humid breaths against Keith’s temple. His hands come up to clutch at Keith’s hair at the base of his neck— a possessive pull of his fingers still shakes against Keith’s skin. 

“Can’t wait to feel you,” Keith admits into the desperate grasp of Lance’s fingers, the words little more than hot air between them. Lance manages to stutter out the first bit of a plea before Keith is pressing a finger up into the enveloping heat of him. It’s nearly unbearable, the strain to go so slow and work out every ounce of tension from Lance’s muscles instead of sinking as deep into him as he could reach. The languid pace is a luxury Keith didn’t think they’d have, but it helps keep them silent as they both slowly grow overwhelmed at all the sensations. 

The sudden sound of the pipes flushing to life beneath the floorboards has them freezing, pulling back enough to catch each other’s eyes and keeping them. Keith’s breath gets caught in his chest as they wait out the sound, straining to hear whoever it is go back to bed. There’s a new edge to the silence and it itches over Keith’s skin, and the only balm is the way he can feel Lance’s thighs tremble with the effort to keep still while his inner muscles try to pull Keith’s finger in deeper. Keith watches, rapt, as Lance’s face transforms as his finger presses inside him further—reaching, twisting, curling—and Lance practically collapses with the effort of not letting a sound escape his gaping mouth. A pretty flush warms Lance’s cheeks, his eyes almost glazed over as Keith presses again—insistently, deliberately—and Lance screws his eyes shut, mouth clicking closed and Keith can see the whitening skin as Lance draws his bottom lip into his mouth and bites. 

Keith can’t tell if he missed the sound of whoever it was going to bed or if he just didn’t care anymore, because he’s too captivated by the contours of every expression Lance gifts him with from every twist of his finger. Lance’s hands clutch Keith closer, his thumbs shaking against the sides of Keith’s neck as he presses back into Keith’s finger, his thighs a pleasant weight against Keith’s lap. 

“More,” Lance rasps into Keith’s hair and Keith can’t help but oblige. His middle finger is dropping to dip out just long enough to situate his index finger with it and then he’s pressing back inside—Lance hides a gasp against the side of Keith’s head, his fingers shaking in the wrapping grip he keeps on Keith’s neck and shoulders. 

Keith’s fingers pull a deliciously slow rhythm out of Lance’s hips—aborted little thrusts accompany the long drags of Keith’s fingertips against Lance’s prostate—and it’s a blissful eternity Keith spends stretching and pulling almost-sounds out of Lance’s chest and into a hidden space between them. 

“I want—” Keith starts, the words so heavy with desire in his chest he’s grateful Lance can already measure the weight of them and is nodding, pressing himself forward and into Keith’s chest and down into his palm simultaneously. It’s Keith, then, who has to contain a groan. Lance is pulling away again—for what seems like less than a second, drawing himself back into their little orbit and tearing a condom open before pressing it against the tip of Keith’s aching and straining length. Keith presses tight-mouthed kisses into Lance’s chest, struggling to contain the groan that ripples in his chest at the feeling of Lance’s deft fingers against him. 

When Lance finishes rolling the condom, he meets Keith’s eyes under the fan of his lashes before lining Keith’s cock up with his entrance and there’s a beat of silence between them as they watch one another; it’s a small, suspended moment then—Keith sucks in a breath against Lance’s neck as his arms spring up to hold Lance’s hips when Lance sits back against him slowly, so slowly. 

Lance lets out little breathy _ahh ah ah_ s into Keith’s hair, finally sighing out in a rush once he’s fully seated against Keith’s lap. The fit feels perfect; Keith thinks their bodies may have been formed from the same stardust or something, because it feels like he’s settled in a missing piece of himself when he’s filling up Lance. Lance’s arms tug him closer, wrapping around Keith’s shoulders and gripping tight. 

Keith can’t push up into Lance the way he wants to, the way his thighs tremble to do; he can only make shallow but hard thrust upwards, his hold on Lance’s waist is the perfect leverage as he clutches him close. Lance’s breath is the only sound in the room, and even then those are half buried in Keith’s neck between humid pants. 

Keith doesn’t think he can ever be close enough to Lance, can ever be too deep inside him. He wants to be completely consumed—wants to feel and taste and smell nothing but Lance, here, now, forever. It’s overwhelming— _intoxicating._ Keith feels kerosene in his blood and Lance is a blaze dangerously close to igniting him. 

“F- _fuhhck_ ,” Lance breathes out through his nose, teeth grazing Keith’s neck as Lance tries to muffle his voice. “Right there, don’t stop _fortheloveofgod—_ ” Keith quiets him with a particularly deep thrust, using his hold on Lance’s waist to press Lance’s hips down even further, feeling the way Lance tightens around his cock at the new angle. Lance has to shove his face into the crook of Keith’s neck, back bowing to get as close as possible. The drag of Lance’s cock against Keith’s belly at the shift—hot and searching—is enough to have Keith pinning Lance’s hips down against his own as he chases that sound out of Lance again and again and again. 

One of Keith’s hands dips to Lance’s tailbone, fingers seeking and curious across the swell of Lance’s ass, fit so snugly against Keith’s lap. A couple fingers drift even lower, a low ache in Keith’s belly driving him to _feel_ that connection between them. The pad of his fingers press against the stretch of Lance across the thickness of Keith and—Keith lets out an exhale into Lance’s hair at the tight pulls he can feel against both his fingers and his cock. It’s too much and it’s just enough and Keith thinks he may not last much longer and then—

Lance breathes a broken whine into Keith’s collarbone before warmth spreads across Keith’s chest as Lance comes—hard, if the deep breathing and shaking is anything to go by. Keith can’t take any more of the engulfing heat inside Lance and then he’s coming in short, rough waves—it feels punched out of him and he chases it with shallow thrusts that pull deep breaths out of Lance’s chest. When the tide recedes, he feels worn out and electrified in the best way. Lance collapses into Keith, all his muscles loose where he’s wrapped around Keith’s frame. Lance mouths lazy kisses into the side of Keith’s neck and Keith sighs, dragging Lance closer by his grip on Lance’s waist despite the gross slide of come between their bodies. It’s easy to ignore when Lance immediately sinks into the motion, eager to try to climb closer to Keith—so close Keith thinks, absently, that they may never quite be just _one_ ever again; there’s too much of them here—now—connected and combined, and he thinks they’ll always be a part of one another until there was nothing left of them to be part of. 

“Fuck, Keith,” Lance whispers into the skin of Keith’s neck and Keith can do nothing but nod in agreement. He takes a deep breath—one that steadies him, helps him forge every last detail of the moment and each moment before it into a cast iron memory that time can never erode. Then Keith helps Lance ease off his lap before leaning over to grab his discarded shirt and sacrificing it to clean up duty. Keith laughs softly at the face Lance pulls as he wipes the last bit of come off his belly and Lance sticks his tongue out at him and—Keith feels light, like this moment is something that has always been set to happen. Like he’s part of some big movement—one that involves him and Lance and the rest of their lives. 

When they finally get settled under the heap of blankets on Lance’s bed, Keith rolls to face Lance to find Lance already waiting, watching him with something too close to awe for Keith’s heart to process this late at night. Early in the morning? Whatever. All Keith knows is that the moonlight does things to Lance’s eyes and the way his ridiculous lashes cast shadows across all the contours of his face. 

“Thank you,” Keith says, sincerely. 

Lance’s eyes shine with a mischief Keith is too sex-lazy to deal with. “Did you just thank me for sex?” Lance’s voice is barely a whisper but it’s still loud enough to convey just how funny Lance finds this. Keith rolls his eyes, the best silent answer he can offer to such a crude joke. 

“Shush,” Keith pulls Lance’s snickering face into the cradle of chest, where Lance has no problem adjusting to muffle his chuckles with the side crook of Keith’s shoulder. Now that they’re settled in and there’s less of a show to interrupt if they suddenly had visitors, Keith feels a little more comfortable whispering to Lance, “I was just trying to say that I’m happy this is the way this turned out. The way we turned out. It feels…” 

“Right,” Lance offers, his hands tracing feather-light designs across each of Keith’s ribs. 

“Right,” Keith mimics, and he can feel it deep in his muscles the truth of the words. They don’t knock against hollow bones; they resonate in his very marrow with how much he means it—he and Lance fit, and it feels _right._

And that’s all that matters right now. 

* * *


End file.
